Sunday, January 8, 2017

This interview in The Quest, print literary journal, of December 2016 issue is uploaded with permission from the Editor, Dr. Ravi Nandan Sinha.

Malsawmi Jacob and Zorami:
The Novelist and the Novel

D. Yogananda Rao

Dept. of English [PG]

Jain University, J C Road Campus,

Bangalore

“Zorami” the first Mizo novel in English,
tells the story of a Mizo woman, after whom the novel is titled, who is
subjected to rape and displacement during a time of violent political upheaval
in Mizoram and her journey towards personal healing and discovery of a new
identity via a spiritual encounter. The novel takes the reader through Zorami's
traversal of her zones of darkness and shades of grey to a final explosion of
the 'colours of acceptance and love'. At the same time, it vividly describes
the Mizo culture and ethos.

Ms Jacob tells her side of the “story”
and shares her views and experiences that went into writing the novel in this
interview.

DYR: Ms. Jacob thanks for accepting to spare some time for this interview
for the journal The Quest.

Could
you introduce yourself to our readers by giving a brief background about
yourself, your education, upbringing etc….?

MJ: My siblings and I grew up
mostly outside Mizoram as our father was working in the Indian Army. For a few
years during my childhood, we were in Mizoram, where I joined school in the
vernacular medium. I studied there up to Class II, and imbibed a love for Mizo
folklore and poetry that we were taught. Our family moved to different places.
But I finished high school and studied up to MA in English in Shillong,
Meghalaya. Then I taught in Aizawl College, Mizoram. Since then I have lived
and worked in different cities – Guwahati, Mumbai and Bangalore.

DYR: I must begin the interview proper by saying that working
with you, though for a very brief period, was a rewarding experience for me and
more importantly congratulating you on the publication of Zorami : A redemption song, the first novel in English from Mizoram. That
leads to my first question: why has it taken so long for a Mizo writer to
publish a novel in English?

MJ: Thank you very much, Sir. And thank you for deciding to
interview me for the esteemed journal. Working under you was a very good
experience for me. As the HOD you were a good guide, but never breathed down my
neck. I really enjoyed working in the department.

As for the question, why a Mizo novel in English only now,
there can be several reasons. (Incidentally, two young women had written Young
Adult Fiction before me, though they may not be classed as ‘Novel’ and a young
man working in Gujarat produced a mystery a few months after my novel was out).
To begin with, we Mizo people have been literate for only about 120 years, in
our own language. English education came even later. Besides, novel writing
itself is quite a recent thing. So I should say it’s not surprising that we’re
only beginning to produce novels in English.

DYR: One of the problems that the
early Indian novelists in English such as Mulk Raj Anand, R K Narayan and Raja
Rao had to deal with was the anxiety concerning the choice of the English
language. Do you think Mizo novel writing in English could also be going
through that sort of an anxiety, considering that Mizo novel writing in English
is in its infancy stages?

MJ: That anxiety is probably
there, in two ways. The first one would be the writer’s own command of the
English language. The second anxiety would be about readership. For serious
writers – by ‘serious’ I mean those making it their main occupation – living
within Mizoram, since the majority of readers there prefer to read in the Mizo
language, to write in English must be quite a difficult decision.

The
few writers who choose English as their medium have mostly been educated, or
living, outside Mizoram, and are actually freer with English than with the
mother-tongue, at least for writing.

DYR: Could you tell us how the
scene has been in other genres like poetry, drama in English from Mizo writers?
I do know that you had published poetry and short stories quite extensively in
English before you published Zorami in
2015.

MJ: Poetic compositions in the
form of songs are the oldest form of Mizo literature. So when we started
writing in English too, poetry was the first genre that we took up. There is a
good number of Mizo poets writing in English today. Mona Zote is a widely known
name among them. I have published a collection of poems and short stories as
well. But the drama is yet to take off as far as I know.

DYR: People in general and
writers in particular from the Northeast have been complaining about the
reluctance of the Indian academia and media to accept them into the
“mainstream” Indian politics, literature and culture. Indeed, various reasons
have been attributed to this reluctance. What in your opinion is the reason for
this reluctance?

MJ: This seems to be a fact, but
I really can’t see the reason. Perhaps it’s due to the chronic human tendency
to always create an “other” to be prejudiced against, either mildly or
violently. But I do see a healthy interest coming up too, and this is
encouraging. Easterine Kire winning the Hindu Literary Prize, hopefully, will
pave the way for the rest of the Northeast writers to be regarded as part of
Indian writers without the regional tag.

DYR:
It is a common critical practice to club all writing that comes from the seven
“sister states” under the broad category of ‘writing from the northeast’.
Surely, the experiences that shape the literature of each region are different
and hence the writing too, no matter how geographically proximate these regions
are. How different is Mizo writing from the writing of other states of the
region?

MJ: This clubbing must be purely
a geographical convenience, as you have suggested. There is no homogeneity
among the peoples of the Northeast as such. The only access we have to writings
from other states and language groups is through English, whether written in it
or through translations. From what we can see through these, our writings, our
tales and our outlooks are all quite different. But I don’t feel capable of
making a large scale comparison of Mizo writing with other writings of the
region here. It would require a careful study, which I haven’t done yet.

DYR: In one of the interviews you
gave, I am referring to the MUSE INDIA interview; you say that the reception of
the novel has been good. I am extremely happy to hear this. Would you please
elaborate on this and tell us how the reception has been in other parts of
India apart from Mizoram and the Northeast?

MJ: Let me clarify that
statement; when I said the reception of the novel has been good, I meant in
terms of comments by readers, not necessarily sales. And these feedbacks came
from different parts of India. There’s the opposite response too; some people
can’t even bear to read it through. These probably dislike the non-linear form
and my ‘native’ style of story-telling. Those who have appreciated it are
mostly, though not exclusively, people associated with art or literature as
students, teachers or writers. And they are from different parts of the
country. Besides, a few newspapers and magazines from different regions have
carried write-ups and reports, or included it in their book racks. And Ambedkar
University in Delhi has prescribed it as part of an elective course on
Northeast Literature.

DYR: In a write-up on the novel
published in The Indian Express
recently, you say that you broke down frequently while writing the novel.
Clearly you must have been passionately involved with it. Could you tell us
something about the kind of the research that went into the writing of the
novel?

MJ: When the trouble started, my
family was outside Mizoram and I was in school. My father was terribly upset
when we got the news. So we knew this was a grave matter. Later, we kept
hearing about the horrible happenings there, so we were always mentally
involved. After finishing my studies, I went back to Aizawl and worked there
for over nine years, getting further exposure to the situation. When the MOU,
popularly known as ‘peace accord’ was signed in June 30, 1986, I was out of
Mizoram again. In May, 2004, I went back to do the research for the novel.

In
Aizawl, I visited a friend whose family member had died a few weeks before.
There were several other visitors. As we sat chatting, I asked them to recount
their memories of the early days of the insurgency movement. One by one they
all narrated their experiences. I recorded them in the cassettes I had brought.
I did the same in Lunglei, where a relative had died some time back. In this
way I got diverse stories.

Next,
I made an appointment with two writers, well known thinkers, in the home of one
of them. They discussed Mizoram issues, past and present.

Finally,
I interviewed some persons – former MNF officers who were now political
leaders, and a pastor who started the process for peace-talks between the
government and the undergrounds. I also read books and documents. Yes, the
research was quite intense.

DYR: As I read through the novel
I couldn’t help being reminded of Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart. Just like Achebe, you make an attempt to force
the language to accommodate the native rhythm interweaving it with Mizo oral
culture. And let me not forget to add, in the use of proverbs and the folk
songs too. Moreover, just like the protagonist’s (Okwonkwo) destiny in Achebe’s
novel is meant to be an allegory for Umofia, the novel’s protagonist Zorami too
is meant to represent the whole of Mizoram. And the patriarchal nature of Umofia
also finds a parallel in the Mizoram of the novel. How influential, if at all,
was Achebe’s writing practices on your own?

MJ: Now that you mention it, I
see the similarities with Achebe’s novel, and it’s very interesting! But
there’s an explanation for it. Starting from the last point; the Mizo society
is strongly patriarchal, I just portrayed it as I saw it. The idea of making
the protagonist Zorami represent Mizoram was conceived way back in 2004, long
before I read Achebe’s novels. Employing songs is a traditional Mizo story
telling style, the folktale characters often speak in songs. And quoting
proverbs to strengthen the speaker’s point is a common practice as well.

However,
I now suspect Achebe may have had a deeper, more subtle influence on my writing,
though I was not conscious of it. This leads to your first point. I read the
trilogy Things Fall Apart, Arrow of God and
No Longer at Ease around the same
time that I was working on Zorami. I
remember thinking of how he tells the stories in a unique way, in his own
style. He must have emboldened me to tell my story in my own way, with all its
rough edges, and “force the (English) language to accommodate the native
rhythm.”

DYR: Yet another thing that
struck me about your novel is the way most chapters end. Events in the chapters
are narrated almost like an eye-witness account striving for a conscious
dispassionate objectivity. However, they end with a one line comment which
sounds as if the narrator is consciously stepping in to remark. This is almost
like a choric intervention we come across in the classical Greek plays…

MJ: Each chapter ending with a
kind of toll was my editor’s idea. He made me do it.

DYR: While the novel is
ostensibly about Mizoram at the macro level, it is also about a woman who has
been subjected to a sexual violation. When a reading of the novel foregrounds
this aspect – as a feminist reading would – I think it is an attempt to dent a
patriarchal society by raising the question very subtly: if a woman has been
violated by one man, why should she seek succour from another man? The
conclusion of the novel is indicative of this. I mean, Zorami’s problems –
psychological and marital – are seemingly resolved – when she accepts the
prevailing nature of patriarchy. Would you like to comment?

MJ: Whereas the novel is critical
of the unjust and prejudiced practice of patriarchy, it does not advocate a
toppling of it. There has to be a healthy, fair balance. Zorami’s biggest
problem is internal, though brought on by the sexual assault. When she finds
inner healing through a spiritual experience, she is able to fully accept her
husband’s love, not necessarily the prevailing nature of patriarchy. Her
husband, who is also psychologically wounded, finds relief and joy in her
new-found state of mind. So it’s a mutual, not one-sided, giving of succour.

DYR: One of the observations made
in the context of “literature of real conflict” – a genre to which Zorami doubtlessly belongs – is that it
treads a thin line between fiction and non-fiction. Do you think this opens up
a possibility of reading and understanding history in new ways?

MJ: This is true of Zorami. It does tread a thin line
between fiction and non-fiction. Several of the characters and incidents are
taken from real life, though fictionalized. And yes, I would say this kind of
conflict literature is part of history in a sense, recording deeper human
experiences beyond dry facts. The official history records only external
occurrences, whereas fiction of this sort deals with what happens inside
people’s minds as well. History is incomplete without an understanding of the
inner stories of people.

DYR: And, again in the context of
trauma induced by the painful events, it is a general opinion that trauma
results in repression of suffering by internalizing it in memory leading to the
silencing of it. Were you at any time of the writing of the novel aware or
conscious about this? And would it be right to say that your novel is a
conscious attempt to break out of this trauma induced silence?

MJ: I was not aware of that in a
theoretical sense, but found out that people had been keeping their pains
locked up inside. When I asked questions during my research, they came out with
their overwhelming stories. And I do regard my novel as a voice of the Mizo people,
where their so far untold stories are narrated to the outside world.

Note:
The MUSE interview alluded to in this interview can be accessed at: http://www.museindia.com/regularcontent.asp?issid=63&id=6049#